


Tempestuous Gales

by AuroraRebellion



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: Gen, also includes most of the altean knights, but they're not big enough players to be worth tagging, except maybe cain? yeah cain has a bigger role bc i stan whoops, like the crew that are there post new mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraRebellion/pseuds/AuroraRebellion
Summary: For a moment, the clouds part, revealing a flickering scene of many, many places, swirling and twisting together until everything is blurred. It curls around Merric for a moment, outlining him against a backdrop of continents and centuries, before the clouds slam back together behind him.Marth freezes, and he hears Caeda gasp behind him.-The Tempest forms over Altea, and Merric is pulled inside. But at the same time, a mask-wearing swordsman comes from the clouds, and so Marth finds himself and his allies tangled in a third struggle to save Altea, and lands beyond it.





	1. Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm breaks over Altea, and it calls for someone to enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've held onto this wip for like a few weeks now and am finally posting it!! Enjoy this au that won't leave me alone.

Caeda sighs, climbing down from the saddle and brushing her bangs from her face.

“The storm’s getting worse,” she says. “The wind’s so bad, I can’t get above the clouds… I probably was only able to land because Merric’s here.”

“And here I was worried I was really making things worse,” Merric comments. “I’m glad I was helping- sometimes the winds can be fickle.”   
“I’m at least used to flying overhead while you’re casting spells,” Caeda says. “So even if it was still strong, it was something better than this storm. It just doesn’t seem natural…”

“Agreed. I know the storm will be upon us soon, but I’m worried for the village to the southeast,” Marth says. “We’ll be fine inside the castle… But they aren’t prepared for a storm of this sort, especially out of season.”   
“We can prepare to go to help them once the worst of this blows over,” Caeda suggests. Merric nods.

“I don’t think it will be safe to travel until it dies down some,” he says. Marth frowns and looks up at the sky.

“It looks like rain… But it doesn’t feel like it in the wind. This is odd…”

The breeze running over the area suddenly turns into a squall, and Marth stumbles back from the sheer force of it. Caeda exclaims, and her pegasus whinnies nervously.

Dark clouds swirl overhead, pulled down by the wind until they brush over the grass, forming a great pillar of grey.

“...Let’s get inside,” Caeda suggests, a nervous edge to her voice. Marth nods in agreement, but Merric stays still and silent, watching the storm clouds.

Then he takes a step towards it, and another, walking to the column of clouds like someone in a trance.

“Merric?” Marth calls, “Merric, what are you doing? That’s- that’s not safe!”   
Merric doesn’t answer, and Marth begins to worry.

_ Something in the storm- something is calling to him, tugging at him and pushing him along _ .

“Merric!” He calls again, and runs to catch up with Merric, only for the wind to shove him back, with such force that he nearly falls.

_ What is it that wants him so badly? It keeps calling, and he reaches out, allowing it to take his hand and pull him into the tempest. _

For a moment, the clouds part, revealing a flickering scene of many, many places, swirling and twisting together until everything is blurred. It curls around Merric for a moment, outlining him against a backdrop of continents and centuries, before the clouds slam back together behind him.

Marth freezes, and he hears Caeda gasp behind him.

No. No, that can’t be good. This clearly isn’t just a storm, but for that, Merric…

This time, the wind doesn’t stop him, but as he reaches the clouds, he collides with something else- a person, who knocks him back as the emerge from the storm, and they both land in a sprawling mess on the ground.

“Wha-! Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” They ask, sitting up and offering a hand to help Marth up. He nods, and takes their hand, allowing them to pull him to his feet as they rise as well.

“I’m… I’m alright. If I may, who are you? And what- what  _ is _ that you just came from?”   
The masked person glances back at the storm, a frown marring what little he can see of their face.

“The Tempest,” they say. “A rift in both time and space, where many heroes of all lands await. Consider it the heart of chaos. If it isn’t stopped, it will likely destroy this world.”

Destroy this- after all they’ve done to- Marth tries to swallow, but finds it difficult due to his mouth being dry.

“How do we stop it, then?” Caeda asks.

“We’ll have to face the heroes inside the storm. It won’t be easy…”   
“We’re used to that,” Caeda says. “We’ll help however we can.” Marth nods in agreement, and breathes in deeply before speaking.

“You can count on our strength behind you,” he says. “And the Altean royal guard, if you’ll give us a moment to call them.”

The masked person recoils, just a little, and presses their lips together until they’re little more than a line.

“You’ll… You’ll help so readily? Oh, thank you! I… I was worried I’d come to the wrong time, and…” They trail off, voice uneven, and Marth smiles in sympathy despite the worry still pounding in his chest.

“It’s alright,” he says. “You’re not alone. Caeda, will you please call the others?”

She nods, and runs off, leaving Marth with the person beside him.

“Ah, I forgot to ask,” he starts. “Forgive me for my rudeness. What’s your name?”

“You may call me- er… Um, my name is- Mars.”

“Mars? That sounds very similar to my own name…”   
“Yes, it’s- er, I was-...”

Mars sighs, looking down at the ground.

“Sorry. Let me start over.”   
Marth nods, and they look back up, seeming more composed.

“My name is- Mars, and I come from the far future. I’ve grown up hearing stories of you, hero-king Marth…”   
“You have?” Mars nods, and he flushes. “My, this… is quite a lot to take in,” he confesses. “I’m really no hero-king. Just a man who is doing his best to lead his people and bring about peace.”

“But for being that, you’ve become so much more! You’ve become a symbol of hope, something to rally behind! In my time, you… You inspired me to change the fate of my world. You’re a legend, your majesty!”

Marth frowns, and looks away.

“I haven’t become that way without my mistakes and sacrifices,” he says. “I am not all-powerful, or even especially strong in the first place.”

“But your majesty! As I said, I’ve grown up on the tales of your time… Of you, and queen Caeda, and even the wind mage Merric- and sometimes my- my uncle would tell me stories of your retainers. I’ve always looked to those stories for strength.”   
“...Truly? Well, I’m glad I’m able to help somehow. Ah, speaking of Merric, did… Did you see him in the clouds?”   
Mars pauses.

“Did sir Merric walk into the Tempest?” They ask. Marth nods, and they grimace.

“I didn’t see him,” they say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. If we calm the tempest, he’ll be returned to us, won’t he?”

“Yes, he will. But lord Marth… Because of the nature of the Tempest, we may meet another Merric, one not of your own time and world, who will be against us.”

“Merric? Against us?”   
Marth’s expression twists in worry, and Mars (maybe they should have thought their name through more, they think, having such similar names is strange-) nods hesitantly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong?”   
“It’s just… Merric is a very powerful mage. And given that his strength is wind magic, even Caeda, being naturally more resistant to magic… Well, if we were to fight him, it wouldn’t end well for us.”

“Oh. I hadn’t even considered… This may be harder than I feared.”

“If we must, I’m certain we can make it through,” Marth says.

“If anyone could… It would be you and your allies, lord Marth. Ah, speaking of them, here they are.”   
Marth turns, and waves to Caeda, who is approaching with a small group of knights following behind her, the majority of which lead horses as they go. She waves back, then turns her head to listen as the knight in red beside her leans over and asks a question. Her response is a shrug.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Caeda says as she walks up. “Not everyone was in the same place…”

“It’s alright,” Marth says. “Are we prepared to leave?”

“As ready as we can be, sire,” the knight in red- Mars thinks he must be Cain- replies. “Lady Caeda explained the situation to us, as well as she understood it.”

“Then we’re prepared to enter the Tempest,” Mars says. “As I explained to his majesty Marth, the Tempest is a mixture of many times and places. You may meet old enemies, old allies, or even yourself from another world in this place.”   
“Other selves?” Caeda repeats. Mars nods, and Cain frowns.

“If I met my other self in that storm, I’d give him a talking-to for going against his liege,” he says. Another knight behind him, one with brown hair and scars (one that Mars finds they don't recognize somehow) nods in agreement.

Caeda runs to her pegasus and leaps into the saddle, at which her pegasus spreads his wings in response.

“Ready when you are!” She calls to Marth. He nods, and looks over the little group of knights. Cain, Draug, Gordin, Kris and Cecil… along with Caeda and the masked Mars, they make a small but powerful group.

Well, he assumes Mars is skilled. Something about their stance suggests it, not to mention the sword at their side.

“Altean knights,” he begins, “I know this is short-notice, but Archanea has need of our help once more. Once we enter this storm, known as the Tempest, any enemy we fight will be in order to keep our homeland safe. Please, as you have so many times before, lend me your strength.”

The knights nod and make various sounds of assent (Cain is one of the loudest, unsurprisingly), and he smiles, just for a moment. They’ll have Merric back safely, and this storm dispelled, in very little time.

Mars turns to the storm clouds still swirling behind them, and draws their sword. With a single stroke, the clouds part to reveal the same twisted mosaic that had flashed when Merric had entered the Tempest.

Marth takes a deep breath and draws his own sword, raising it to the sky.

“Altean knights, onwards!” He commands, and steps into the rift.

 

He’s pulled along into the chaos, sounds and sights smearing together in a dizzying manner, until he’s standing on solid ground again, though in an unfamiliar area. He looks behind him, and finds his knights all in one piece- no, not all of them. There’s Cain and Kris and Caeda, but Cecil, Draug and Gordin are missing… not to mention Mars has disappeared as well. He frowns and looks around, but they aren't anywhere in sight.

This is, to put it bluntly, not good.

“Did the person with the mask mention the possibility of us being separated, sire?” Cain asks. Marth shakes his head.

“They explained the basic concept of the Tempest, but nothing about how we would travel once within it, and I neglected to ask. Do you think the others are alright?”

“Provided they're in a group? They have  _ Doga _ on their side, sire. They can hold out until we reach them.”

Marth chuckles, and nods in agreement, doing his best to allow Cain’s words to quiet the questions still storming about in his mind.

“Then we must continue onwards, until we find them,” he orders. “Be careful.”   
“We’re right behind you, Marth,” Caeda says.


	2. Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other half of the team, upon separation.

Their group is about half the size it once was, and Cecil is the first to notice.  
“Where- um, hey, you with the mask? Where’d lord Marth and lady Caeda go?”  
Mars turns to look at Cecil, clearly confused despite the mask over their face.  
“What? What do you mean, their Majesties were right…”  
There’s only four, instead of eight.  
“Wait- no,” they say, “No no no, this isn’t supposed to happen! Where did- where- were we too big of a group? I thought- I thought we’d be fine!”  
They make a sound of distress, and Draug clears his throat.  
“We’ll find our way,” he says. “I’m sure of it.”  
“This isn’t the first time we’ve been on our own mission!” Gordin boasts. Mars looks over, frowning.  
“Sir… er, sir- sir Gordin, if I remember the stories correctly… Weren’t you captured, on some solitary mission?”  
Gordin grimaces and looks elsewhere.  
“Point is,” Cecil cuts in, “We’re separated. We need to get back to lord Marth and lady Caeda.”  
Mars nods.  
“Right. Maybe, if we reach the heart of the Tempest, we’ll be reunited… And if not, when the Tempest is cleared, we’ll be reunited for certain! So we just have to keep going. Just… keep moving.”  
“Those our orders?” Cecil asks. Mars pauses.  
“Orders? ...Wait, am- am _I_ the one in charge, right now?”  
“You know more about this storm than we do,” Draug says. “Just tell me where to stand, and I won’t let anyone through unless you tell me to.”  
Mars takes a deep breath, clutching the hilt of the sword at their hip.  
“I understand,” they say. “I’ll do my best to lead you all.”  
“First order of business, sir?” Gordin asks.  
“Sir?” Mars seems confused for a moment, then shakes themself. “...Right. Sorry. Um… We just need to press onwards. After we defeat the Heroes here, we’ll be brought to another place. The Tempest doesn’t tend to call in enough Heroes for much more than seven skirmishes, and it’s been traversed by groups about our size plenty of times in the past.”  
“Seven battles?” Draug asks. Mars nods.  
“Yes. ...If- if you’re not sure you can do that, I can do most of the work on my own, if you’ll just step in when I need the help…”  
“No, not a problem,” Draug says. “We can do it.”  
“All we need are the directions, and you can leave the rest to us,” Cecil adds.  
For the first time, Mars smiles, relieved and hopeful.  
“Alright. Then… Er, knights, onward?”  
“Making it a question sounds sort of lame,” Gordin remarks. “Look- it’s like this.”  
He raises his bow in the air, and shouts:  
“Altean knights, onward!”  
“Ah, I- I see,” Mars stutters. “More like lord Marth? Er, so it’s… Yes, I see.”  
They draw their sword, holding it up in the air. The light catches on the blade, casting a faint glow about the metal, and Mars takes a deep breath before raising their voice.  
“Altean knights, _onward!_ ” They command. Gordin whistles lowly and nods in satisfaction.  
“Much better. You know, you sound a little bit like lord Marth, now!”  
“I- I do?”  
“Yep! It’s pretty cool.”  
Mars grins, standing tall with pride just for a moment, before they compose themselves again.  
“Oh, but I’m getting sidetracked. Come on, we don’t have time to waste.”  
They start off, and the little group falls in behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter whoops but I can guarantee you the next will be longer because I have no ability to regulate word counts


	3. Head in the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merric's experiences in the Tempest differ greatly from the others', and he isn't sure he's fond of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like three times as long as the previous chapter rippp  
> But I love Merric and magic and everything related to those two things ok

As far as Merric is concerned, the next few seconds are a blur of color and noise, and are filled with the sort of vertigo that comes from being somewhere very high up and looking  _ down _ .

Another second later, it’s dark and quiet, and the sensory whiplash makes his head hurt.

...Where is he? It seems like a castle, yet everything is slightly blurred at the edges, as if surrounded by fog.

Something lights up in the air, bright like lightning, and he recognizes it as some kind of magic, though what kind exactly he can’t tell. Is it lightning, or wind? They’re such different magics, he shouldn’t be confusing the two, but somehow this magic in the air is just enough like both that he can’t tell what exactly it is.

But what’s clear enough is that something is behind it, as it curls in the air, twisting and looping around him in heavy coils. Then it tugs, and he nearly trips over his own feet at the sudden pull.

He decides to follow along instead of fighting against it. He’s already lost and in unfamiliar territory anyways, perhaps he’ll learn something useful this way.

Walking is harder than it should be, though. His legs feel heavy and uncooperative, and he stumbles frequently as he goes along. It’s as if the fog’s just as much in his head as it is in this odd castle, and it just settles thicker over him as he continues. If he tried to stop and pull back against the cords of magic knotted around him, he’s certain he’d fall flat on his face. The ground gives under his feet in a way that tells him it isn’t stone, though. It’s like walking on clouds- or rather, what he might imagine walking on clouds to feel like. Clouds are really just made of mist like fog is and you can’t walk on fog. ...He’s getting distracted.

Not only is his mind hazy and unfocused, his vision is becoming that way too, blurring then refocusing when he puts the effort into it. Perhaps this is bad. Of course, he can’t do much about it if it is, except acknowledge that things might be amiss. At least he still has Excalibur at his side.

The corridor he’s walking down widens to a hallway that might have carpet on it, but it’s so close to the color of the ground he can’t tell whether it’s actually different or he’s just seeing things. He could be seeing things. That hallway opens to… It seems like a throne room. The air is calm and charged with magic here, and the coils around him crumble off into nothing, instead replaced by a different sort of pull- the sort that brought him into the storm.

Is this that same storm? Is this castle what lies inside those clouds? That’s fascinating, and he wants to meet the architect. Perhaps it’s a dragon, like Bantu and Tiki, but one of the clouds? He’s heard of Forsetti the wind dragon, one of those in Naga’s court, but does Forsetti control storms?

He gives into the call of whatever it is in this place that keeps guiding him further in, and approaches what might be a throne.

Perhaps he should stop and rest soon, though- he’s starting to get dizzy, and combined with the odd blur everything has here, it’s certainly not a good sign.

As he pauses, it finally occurs to him what the magic in the air might be; storm magic. Neither lightning nor wind, but having elements of both in it. He’s never heard of it or seen it before, but it’s the best description for the charge in the air.

If it’s partly wind magic, can he control it, he wonders? Or will that rip a hole in the clouds he assumes the castle is made of? He really wants to give it a try…

Curiosity wins over caution, and he sends out his own call to the magic in the room.

In response, the fog, friendly but irresistible, envelops him completely.

  
  


“Hello, dear, can you hear me?”

He gradually drifts to awareness, and starts when he realizes someone is standing before him.

“Oh! Er- um, hel-hello! Sorry, I… I missed when you arrived. What were you saying?”

Part of him wonders whether he should be cautious, but the person doesn't-  _ feel _ like a threat? The magic in the air settles around them comfortably, with a note of familiarity. It's calm, and it sways his own thoughts on the matter.

“I was just asking whether you could hear me, darling,” the person responds. “You seemed as if… your head was in the clouds, so to speak.”

Or literally, he thinks. It's amusing that a term like that could be applied to him at the moment.

“Yes, something like that... Might I ask your name?”

“Of course!”

The person bows slightly, holding their staff off at their side.

“Loki, sorceress of the Tempest,” she says. “And you've been called here because the Tempest needs you.”

“The Tempest?” He asks. Loki smiles, but though something nudges him to think of her smile as warm, he's not sure he really feels that way.

“The storm you walked into, dear. A mix of many different times and places and possibilities… And it’s in danger. There's someone who would upset its progression and knock things askew.”

Danger… The magic around him ruffles nervously, and he thinks it seems like it could be dangerous on its own, nevermind any interference.

“...I see. What will happen, if they succeed?”

“Chaos. As it is, the Tempest is resting over Altea… and if the interloper gets her way, it will likely begin to devour Archanea. It gets… Rough, with things it’s fond of, without the proper guidance.”

_ Much like me _ , she implies with a giggle, instead of using words. It reminds him of that girl from Grust, the one that was weirdly obsessed with Marth. He’s not concerned with her eccentricities at the moment, though.

“It will? How do we stop it?”

Loki’s smile is certainly not warm, but he still can't force himself to feel wary of her.

“Simple- we remove the interloper. It won't be easy, though… She's rather good at summoning shades and mirages of things, including heroes you may recognize. The hero-king Marth comes to mind.”

It takes him awhile, far too long, to figure out what she means, but when it finally hits him, the haze over his mind clears for a moment, and he realizes with sharp clarity what that would entail.

“Marth… would be against us? By- by choice, or-?”

“Oh, no, it wouldn't be Marth,” Loki soothes, putting her hands on his shoulders. The fog closes back over him at her touch, but he lacks the drive to recoil. “Illusions. It wouldn't be the real people.”

“Illusions… Like Gharnef used?”

“Exactly! My, you're quick on the uptake, aren't you?”

He’s ever so slightly insulted by the insinuation that he’s slow, but he knows she doesn't mean it.

“I do my best to understand current events. But… even if it's an illusion… will we be expected to fight Marth?”

“And possibly his knights, unfortunately. But it will be for the real Marth- to keep him and his homeland safe. Can you use your strength for that cause?”

He thinks for a moment, frowning deeply. An illusion, following someone dangerous, but the illusions look like his friends…

“I'm not sure,” he confesses. “Can we just defeat the leader, without hurting anyone else?”

Loki nods, still all smiles and comforting gestures.

“Of course!”

The fog is beginning to feel less friendly, but he can't tell what the charge is directed towards- whether it's him, or Loki, that the magic is beginning to twist away from.

“But if you need some time to think it over, that's not a problem.”

“That… Would be appreciated, honestly. Are you sure it's no trouble?”

“No trouble at all, dear! I’ll come back later, and you can tell me your decision. See you later!”

Loki waves and walks away, and though he isn't sure he wants her to leave completely, it doesn't occur to him to go after her until after she's disappeared around the corner.

“Ah, wait-”

He steps forward, but it would seem the Tempest (is that it? Is the magic in the air the consciousness of the storm?) isn't fond of the idea, because the fog that’s been drifting around him sweeps over him again, and he has to step back again in order to shake himself free.

Staying focused takes an unexpected amount of effort, he finds, because the fog fills his mind with the mental equivalent of cotton. He can't afford to be distracted and get lost again, though, because Loki will come back and he’ll have nothing to show for the time he’s spent standing in one place.

Eventually he’s able to think more or less clearly though, and considers the situation. The Tempest, illusions, someone who shouldn't be here… and Marth. Marth, and Caeda and the knights of the royal guard.

Whatever else happens, he doesn't want to hurt them- even the thought of hurting something that only  _ looks _ like them fills him with dread.

He’ll tell Loki his thoughts on the matter when she returns.


	4. Monstrosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tempest is creative with how it splits everyone up, and Marth finds himself against yet another dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, the title for this chapter? Also the name of a killer OST from FE:A. I'd recommend checking it out- it was what I listened to on loop while writing a majority of this chapter.

“Behind you!” Caeda shouts. Marth ducks, and he feels the gust of wind as Caeda swoops over him, driving her spear into the enemy before him.

“Thank you, Caeda,” he calls. She turns back and smiles at him, and guides Gale to land.

“From what I can see, that’s all there is out here for now… Maybe more enemies will appear?”   
“Maybe… I wish we weren’t separated into two groups,” Marth says. “I could use Mars’s advice and knowledge of the tempest.”

Caeda hums.

“It doesn’t feel like a storm, here,” she comments. He nods in agreement.

“It doesn’t. It’s very surreal…”

Caeda opens her mouth to reply, but the sound is lost in the mess as something slips, and the scenery blurs like it did when they first entered the storm. Colors flash and meld together, and the ground itself drops out from under his feet for a moment.

He catches himself and when he blinks, he’s no longer where he was. He’s upon something that moves, something large and covered in deep purple scales.

A dragon...? Yes, he’s riding upon a dragon.

Far, far below, he can see land and ocean drift by beneath the dragon’s feathered wings. There’s none of the security he feels when he’s in the saddle with Caeda though, so it only leaves him with a vague sense of vertigo.

He only now remembers to look back to see the others, much to his shame, but it doesn’t matter much- there’s no one there to see.

Somehow, he’s been sent here alone.

The air before him shimmers, and lights up in a blinding flash. He cringes back and grips Falchion’s hilt tight as a figure comes into view…

A soldier? It looks like a soldier. Yet, most soldiers don’t breathe purple smoke in deep heaving rasps, nor do they shamble like this creature does, jerky and uncoordinated in movement as if it was a marionette puppet. He doesn’t know what to call it, but he knows it’s most certainly not human- or at least, not now, if it ever was.

The soldier-like thing makes a sound that humans don’t make, and charges at him with a lance that seems too rusted to be a proper weapon anymore. He ducks past the attack, and retaliates with a lunge, driving Falchion’s blade into the things’ stomach. It emits a choked groan, then dissolves into dust and smoke.

He hopes accidentally breathing in when it dissolved won’t hurt him somehow, even though the smoke burns his throat and the dust makes him cough.

The wind sweeps the little cloud away, and he considers what he has to do next. Perhaps his answers lie farther down the dragon’s back? It’s at least worth a try, he decides, so he begins making his way down the dragon’s spine. The scales are smooth, and they shift as the muscles beneath them ripple in time with each sweeping movement of the dragon’s wings.

Some part of him wonders if this is what it would be like to ride on Tiki’s back while she’s in dragon form, and the sheer absurdity of such an almost-mundane thought shocks him. Perhaps, but what did it matter? He has more pressing things to worry about as it is. (Not to say Tiki isn't important, though. She's practically a younger sister to him and he loves her dearly.)

There’s something up ahead, a figure dressed in robes. For a moment he hopes it’s Merric, but Merric’s robes are not purple, and his hair is not white.

He’s distracted. He’s distracted, and so he does not see the creature rise up beside him until it’s too late, and it’s already swung, slamming dull claws into his shoulder and knocking him aside.

His feet slip and go out from under him, sending him tumbling along scales that are too slick for him to find any handholds on and for a moment he’s staring down at clouds with absolutely nothing under his feet--

The updraft of another wingbeat sweeps him back closer to the dragon’s spine, and he scrambles to his feet, breathing hard and shaking with adrenaline.

The creature is still there, a vaguely human-shaped mass of what he hopes is merely dark magic and smoke (the awful, nauseating smell tells him it isn’t), and it lumbers closer, each movement sending a shudder through the cloth that covers what he assumes is its head. Eyes lit bright red with twisted magic stare at him through tears in the fabric, and it raises a hand with fingertips that end in ragged claws.

He steps back and holds Falchion in front of him. It hums beneath his fingertips with a hidden energy, and it’s just familiar enough to be grounding.

The creature is slow. It’s very slow and very clumsy, and he easily darts past its messy swipes, turning and striking with practiced lunges. The thing makes a garbled sound that, just like the other creature, humans do not make, and smoke pours from the holes in the cloth over its head as little bits of the thing crumble off into dust.

He feels sick from the smell of rot that wafts off the creature- it’s so strong he can practically taste it, but he still has to breathe as he swings, driving the blade of Falchion into the area that might be the creature’s neck if it has one.

It makes another sound, and dissolves like the first one. He knows to hold his breath this time.

There are more behind him, he realizes with a start. Far more than there were earlier, in a large enough group he can’t count on his speed alone, not when he’s already fallen on the dragon’s scales once.

He makes a decision, and runs down the dragon’s back, in the direction of the figure in purple robes.

As opposed to smoke billowing from them, something purple flickers and crackles around the figure, dancing over their arms and burning the air nearby. They turn as Marth approaches, and he meets eyes just as red as the other creatures’, which crinkle at the edges as their lips curl back in a scowl.

“ **Another child of Naga,** ” they scoff, with a voice that holds two voices within it- one soft, and the other distorted, growling in a way that reminds him of the Manakete tongue. “ **She grows desperate, does she? Her little children of the future are not enough to stop me, and she turns to another mortal.** ”

Falchion buzzes in his hands, warm with a power that he hasn’t felt since he faced down Medeus.

“ **Ah, but you don’t recognize me, do you, child of Naga?** ” They ask. “ **No matter. You will soon learn. I am the wings of despair.** ”

They take a step closer, and the purple dancing around them spreads out like a broken halo.

“ **I am the breath of ruin.** ”

Their voice holds less of that gentle second-voice, and more and more of a growl, until he can barely understand their words- yet at the same time, he knows exactly what they’re saying.

“ **I am the Fell Dragon, Grima!** ” They roar, and the dragon beneath their feet roars with them, breathing deep purple flames into the sky.

A dragon. This is a dragon, yet they’re also standing upon a dragon, and-? He doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t need to, for Grima narrows their eyes.

“ **And you, child of Naga, will fall before your god.** ”

“I will not,” he counters, finally finding his voice. “I will not fall, nor will I bow.”

“ **Then you will burn,** ” Grima hisses, and flames as dark as night ignite in their hands.

He ducks and rolls out of the way of the flames as they blaze through the air, and darts back to his feet. Grima snarls, and steps away as he runs closer, fire burning away into smoke. This time, he doesn’t have time to stop and dodge-

The smoke rolls over him, searing hot and impossible to breathe. He cries out, and stumbles, falling to the scales beneath him. It’s dragon fire, but somehow worse at the same time, like Naga’s divine flames but perverted and destructive.

The smoke is carried away by the wind and he gasps for air, choking on the remnants of the smog. Grima makes what he can best describe as a purr as they stroll closer.

“ **You will not bow, nor will you fall? Impressive words for a mortal… And here they crumble before you.** ”

He pushes himself back up to his knees, and Grima laughs, bubbling and filled with a sound like the crashing of the ocean against a cliff.

“ **Still resisting fate… How quaint. If you beg, I’ll give you a swift death. What say you, child of Naga?** ”

“I… I say…”

Falchion  _ burns _ against his palms, alight with an inner fire that tears through him and drives him back to his feet.

Grima has let their guard down, and he sees their eyes widen as Falchion pieces their chest.

“ _ I will not bow to you _ ,” he repeats, quietly, and pulls Falchion free.

The dragon beneath his feet lets out a screech, and Grima’s cry blends with it until it’s all senseless noise in his ears.

“ **NO! Not again! You meaningless, powerless WORM! I…** I… I am...”

The growling voice fades, leaving the gentler one behind, and just for a moment, he sees a smile begin to form on Grima’s face before they fade into stardust.

Falchion cools, the fire dying down until it’s best compared to the glow of a candle, and he feels tired and cold without its blaze.

For a moment he wonders if the blurring scenery is just his tired vision, and it takes him a few seconds to recognize it as the Tempest sweeping him off to somewhere else again.

Hopefully, this time he isn’t on his own against a dragon.

He’s not sure he could do it twice.


	5. Familiar Battlefields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mars steps back and allows the proper captain of the Altean knights to take command, and gets a firsthand glimpse at part of the path the Hero-king has traveled.

...The first thing Cain notices is the fact that it’s significantly colder. Then, that it’s snowing. It’s all oddly familiar.

Oh, there’s Draug and Gordin, and- that’s the person with the mask, not lord Marth… Which  means Kris and Cecil are with lady Caeda and lord Marth. Good. They’re in good hands, and he can make sure this group is alright.

“Draug, Gordin,” he calls, and tugs on the reigns to guide his horse closer to them. “Is everything alright? Anything of note that happened?”

“We used the Doga in the door technique,” Gordin reports with a grin. Cain laughs.

“Everyone’s fine, then,” he chuckles. “Good work, Draug. ...If I’m not wrong, everything changes once we’ve routed the enemy, so let’s go before we freeze out here.”

“Just about as cold as Anri’s Way,” Gordin comments. Cain frowns, and looks around before responding.

“Yeah. I think you’re right about that. Draug, Gordin, stay together and head to your left. I’ll go with… er, what was your name?” He asks Mars. “I don’t remember lord Marth saying it.”

“My name is- er, you may call me Mars!” Mars replies. “What are my orders, sir Cain?”

“Stay with me,” Cain replies. “I think this is on the way to the Ice Dragon’s Shrine. We’ll find the leader of the group, while Gordin and Draug take care of the others. ...Preferably quickly. We’re not equipped for this weather.”

Gordin mumbles in assent as he shivers, and Mars nods.

“Understood! You can count on me, sir Cain!” They promise.

“I’ll be doing just that,” Cain says, and raises a hand to signal to Draug and Gordin to start off.

Mars trots along beside him as he rides through the snowstorm, doing their best to keep up. He debates offering a place beside him in the saddle, just so they don’t have to walk through the snow.

“This is worse than Regna Ferox,” Mars comments.

“Where’s that?” Cain asks.

“North of my home. A land of ice and snow, and home to skilled warriors.”

Cain hums, and falls silent. Mars hopes they haven’t upset him somehow. They imagined him to be more like Sully- confident and casual in speech, overly loud at certain times, and easy to have a conversation with. They hadn’t expected silence and serious expressions, or how easily he steps into role of leader. ...Not that they mind him taking over. He’s clearly more experienced than they are.

“Mars?”

They start, and look up.

“Y-yes sir?”

“You alright? You seem distracted.”

“I… I think I was. My apologies. I’ll stay focused.”

“If you’re tired, you can ride on Aven,” he offers. “She’s not the kind to throw a rider.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

“Ok, but if you change your mind, just let me know.”

Mars considers how to reply, but then pauses. Something sounds through the dark, muffled by the snow but still distinctly out of place.

Cain’s horse stops as he pulls on the reigns, eyes suddenly on the sky.

“What was that?” Mars asks. Cain holds up a hand, and they frown. What’s wrong…?

Something crashes into the snow a little distance away, and they bolt back, slamming against the side of Cain’s horse.

“S-sorry!” They yelp. “I’m sorry, I was- I was startled. What- what was-?”

“Ballista,” Cain says. His expression is grim. “Stay alert, and stay quiet.”

“Understood, sir,” they whisper. He nods, and flicks the reigns.

They pass by the thing the ballista shot as they continue. It resembles a massive arrow, and Mars is glad it missed.

There’s more sound in the distance, and something moves nearby, but Cain doesn’t pause this time, instead drawing his sword. Mars echoes the movement.

The thing moving in the snowstorm comes closer, and Cain charges with a shout, Mars hurrying behind him to keep up.

Another figure comes barreling out of the dark, and Mars ducks under the axe as it goes whistling over their head. Their sword is warm in their hands, unlike everything else here, and it soothes the cold stiffness in their fingers. This, this is something they know how to do.

“On your right!” Cain calls, and they flinch away from an axe as it slams into the snow. Cain dispatches the wielder with a quick stroke, and Mars wonders for a moment about the mask the person wore.

“Thank you, sir Cain!” They say. Cain nods, and turns his attention elsewhere.

“That was Legion,” he says. “I don’t get it… They weren’t here when we were caught in the snowstorm.”

“The Tempest sometimes changes things,” Mars replies. “It brings in Heroes where there weren’t before.”

Cain’s expression twists in obvious confusion, and he looks over at Mars.

“Legion is considered a  _ hero _ ?” He asks.

“No, not exactly…” Mars flusters. “Er, it’s- it’s- um… They’re someone who had a hand in the story- a large enough hand to be recognized in history to come. ...Though, if- if I may… What exactly is Legion, sir Cain?”

Cain sighs and shrugs.

“Heck if anyone knows. Even Katarina doesn’t have a clue, and she grew up with all of them.”

“All of them?”

“Legion’s… one person, in a lot of different bodies. -I think? Nobody really knows what exactly is up with them, just that there are a lot of them, and they’re a formidable foe.”

“I see. I’ll exercise caution around them!”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

Cain shivers, and Mars realizes they’ve gotten sidetracked once again. They’re looking for the enemy in the snowstorm, and there will be time to talk in warmer places.

There’s shouting in the distance, and Cain pauses for a moment before chuckling.

“That’s Gordin,” he states. “He still acts surprised when he hits something, sometimes… Oh, but speaking of archers- Mars, stay close. The leader of this group is an archer.”

“I know how to handle myself against just about any enemy,” Mars protests, but Cain frowns.

“It’s an order, Mars, and it’s not because you’re incompetent. I’d ask lord Marth to stay close, too.”

“But you wouldn’t order him to,” Mars counters.

“Of course not,” Cain replies. “It would be rude, and he’s my liege.  _ He  _ gives the orders.”

“But- oh, alright. But I won’t stay back, even if you order me to, sir Cain!”

“...I guess  _ I _ can’t ask anyone to stay back, can I. Okay then.”

Cain clicks his tongue, and his horse starts off through the snow again. Mars stays close. They find they’re shielded from the wind on this side… And when the wind shifts, shortly afterwards Cain motions them to his other side. Some part of them objects to the coddling, but it’s colder than Regna Ferox out here, and shelter from the wind makes it a little more bearable.

Oh, but there’s something in the distance… Mars glances to make sure Cain is looking elsewhere, then takes their mask off to see better for a moment. The thin line there… A bow. And it’s not Gordin.

“Excuse me,” they say, and take off across the snow. Cain makes a sound of confusion, then shouts.

“Mars! Wait!”

A hand catches their shoulder and jerks them backwards, before they’re pulled to the side and they hear the sound of an arrow glancing off armor. They weren’t sneaking up on the enemy, after all.

“I said to stay close,” Cain mutters, and lets them go as he steps away.

“I guess I forgot you’d need a briefing… We’re dealing with assassins, and they know how to work with poor visibility.”

There’s the creak of a bowstring, and Cain steps aside, pulling Mars along again as he does. An arrow goes whistling past, after which Cain takes off towards the archer. He rolls to avoid another arrow, and comes back up into a lunge.

He steps back and pulls his sword free, and the archer drops.

“I think we should find Draug and Gordin, if they haven’t taken care of the ballista… Oh, by the way, how are you holding up with the cold?”

“Me? I’m fine, sir Cain!” They say. Falchion keeps their hands from getting too cold, but he doesn’t have a magic weapon like that... “Aren’t  _ you _ cold?”

Cain makes a noise in the back of his throat as he brushes snow off of himself.

“I got snow down my shirt, so that kind of sucks, but I’ll live.”

“So, we’re going to go find sir Draug and sir Gordin now?”

“Yep! C’mon, it’ll be faster if you ride with me.”

Cain walks over to his horse, climbing into the saddle before holding out a hand. Mars takes it, and Cain helps them up beside him in the saddle.

It’s a lot warmer, surprisingly, when they’re sitting here. They’re a little more sheltered from the wind, like when they were walking beside Cain, but a bit more so than even that. Now they can tell Cain is shivering, though, and they feel bad for making him jump out of the saddle like he did to keep them safe.

Hopefully the Tempest will…

Ah, there it is now. The scenery blurs and shifts into something else, swirling like multicolored smoke for a moment before solidifying into a new place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact while I was writing the summary I didn't want to copy/paste the chapter text yet, so the only word in the chapter text area was, 'Heccie????'


	6. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marth hesitates, and Caeda goes pale.  
> “Kris and Cecil were with me,” she says. “Marth- you were fighting that dragon on your own, weren’t you?”  
> He makes an awkward sound halfway between a hum and a chuckle.  
> “...It’s not the first time I’ve faced down a dragon alone, either,” he says, softly.

For a sickening moment, Marth feels as if he’s falling through the air, as if the dragon has disappeared and now there’s nothing to keep him from plummeting to the ground.

Then, there’s earth beneath his feet again, and he sucks in a belated gasp at the earlier sensation. His stomach is still flipping and fluttering, but it doesn’t do much to distract him from how tired he is. Maybe it’s just that the adrenaline has finally worn off, or perhaps the travel to this new place has drained him more, but either way…

Marth’s clothes are burnt and there’s a tear in his tunic, located on his side, and Caeda almost calls his name before she realizes he probably won’t be able to hear her as he sways, once, twice, then-

She leans forward in the saddle, urging Gale into a dive, then leaps down as soon as she can without the momentum knocking her off her feet. It’s just enough that she’s there as Marth topples backwards, and he falls into her arms.

His eyes flutter closed for a moment before he opens them again, blinking hard and looking up.

He’s sitting down, now. When did that happen?

“...Caeda?” He asks. She nods, and he smiles. “I’m glad you’re safe… Are the others alright?”

He’s asking about everyone else, even though he’s the one who’s clearly been hurt the worst. She bites her lip and considers how to respond.

“I think we’re all more worried about you, sire,” Cain says, as he walks over and kneels down beside Marth. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Me? I’ll be fine, I promise,” Marth says. Then he frowns, sitting forward instead of leaning back against Caeda. “Did a mage hit you? There’s snow in your hair, and… Is that frost on your armor?”

Cain takes a moment to consider what Marth’s pointing out (he really is just _radiating_ cold, Caeda notes), then shrugs.

“I was in the middle of a blizzard a few moments ago,” he states simply. “So yeah, probably is. You look like you just fought a dragon.”

“I… Suppose I did,” Marth replies, at which both Cain and Caeda recoil slightly. “They said their name was Grima.”

Now Mars reacts, gasping audibly and leaning back against Cain’s horse. Marth looks over, and his eyes soften with concern.

“You were out in the cold too, weren’t you… Are you alright?”

Mars nods, barely enough of a motion to be seen.

“Y-yes,” they stammer, “I’m- I- I’m fine. It’s just… Grima is- he’s from-”

Cain shifts, sitting back before rising to his feet.

“He’s from my world,” Mars finally chokes out. “The Fell Dragon, who- who-”

They’re beginning to tremble, and Cain walks over beside them.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” he says. Mars shakes their head.

“It’s fine. Really. I just- I’m sorry, your majesty, you had to fight him and I wasn’t…”

“Believe it or not, it’s far from the first dragon I’ve had to fight,” Marth says. “Hopefully, it will be the last, though.”

“Yes, it- it should be. Again, I’m sorry. That- that _Grima_ was…”

“It’s best that I was there,” he replies. “Out of all of us… I have in my possession Falchion, the blade created by Naga to defeat her own kind. I’m well prepared for a fight against a dragon.”

“I guess if it was anyone…” Cain pauses, then looks around, mumbling what sounds like numbers and names under his breath. “...Lord Marth, who was with you when you fought that dragon?”

“With me?”

“Yeah. I was with Mars, Doga- I mean, Draug- and Gordin, which leaves you, lady Caeda, Kris and Cecil.”

Marth hesitates, and Caeda goes pale.

“Kris and Cecil were with me,” she says. “Marth- you were fighting that dragon on your own, weren’t you?”

He makes an awkward sound halfway between a hum and a chuckle.

“...It’s not the first time I’ve faced down a dragon _alone_ , either,” he says, softly.

Mars gapes openly, clearly stunned.

“You were- the Tempest can split us like that? I- I knew it would make the passage easier for certain Heroes, but…”

“I hope Gordin and Cecil don’t end up on their own,” Cain says. “Kris and Draug could probably handle themselves, but those two are best with a team.”

“If they’re on their own… What happens if one of us falls?” Caeda asks. Mars purses their lips in thought before responding.

“You’ll return to your world once the Tempest is dispelled,” Mars says. “But… It will appear, while we’re in the Tempest, that the person has…” They pause, and breathe deep.

“That the person has died,” they finish. “The Tempest won’t bring them along to the next battle.”

“What if-”

Caeda cuts off as Marth shifts, getting back up on his feet.

“Hopefully, it won’t matter,” he says. “As long as I’m here, I don’t intend to let any of you die, nor do I intend to fall before dispelling the Tempest. Are we ready to press onwards?”

Caeda nods as she stands, stepping back over to Gale and putting a hand on the saddle. Cain nods as well, flashing a grin over to Mars.

“I think we’ve thawed out,” he says. “You ready, Mars?”

Mars straightens up, smiling slightly in return.

“Yes, sir!” They reply. Cain pats their shoulder before turning and climbing into his saddle again.

“We’re ready, lord Marth,” he reports. Marth looks to Caeda, who raises a hand to him, and he returns the gesture.

“Understood,” he says, and draws his sword, holding it aloft for a mere moment as he pulls it from its sheath. Mars, for the first time, sees what Tiki was talking about, when she spoke of king Marth. A man who led his people with kindness, and unyielding resolve.

“Onward!” Marth commands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is winding to a close... Unless I somehow get hit with a plot bunny that spawns some new chapter, the next chapter will be the last one.  
> Quick shoutout to all the people reading this, hope you've enjoyed it thus far!


	7. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marth and his allies reach the heart of the Tempest, and Loki finds herself in over her head when it comes to wind mages and storms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact I love the Archanea group and also Mars/Masked Marth.

The scene clears again, and-

It looks like the halls of a castle, yet everything is made of deep grey storm clouds. Lightning flickers in what would otherwise be stone, and thunder rolls in the distance, breaking the silence that hangs heavy in the air.

Then, Gordin choses to completely banish the silence with an exclamation.

“Hey! Everyone’s back together!”

Cain starts, then laughs, equally loud as Gordin.

“So we are! Glad to know  _ you’re _ fine… How about everyone else?” He looks around the group, making note of everyone.

“Kris, Cecil, Draug, how’s everything been with you?”

“Nothing to report, sir!” Kris replies. “We’re all unharmed.”

“That’s good,” Marth says. “I’ll admit, I was worried about you all…”

“I wouldn’t be, not when we have sir…” He hesitates, seeming to rethink his words. “Er, sir… Sir Doga on our side, sire.”

Kris smiles ever so slightly as Cain laughs again.

“You’re catching on, Kris!” Cain exclaims. “Lord Marth, everyone’s accounted for and unharmed," -he cuts off and snickers- "partly because Draug is probably a god. Awaiting your orders, sire.”

“Thank you, Cain,” Marth replies, smiling in response to Cain’s grin, before focusing and growing serious.

“Mars, do you have any idea what will await us here?” He asks. Mars frowns and shakes their head.

“I’m sorry, I… Don’t recognize this area at all, sire,” Mars says. “This seems to be a recreation of something in your time, and this is the only time it will appear.”

“It… Does look like Altea castle…” Marth takes a deep breath, and looks back to the group of knights behind him. “Everyone, remain cautious. Anyone you see here… Even if they look like people you know, they’re not likely to be allies.”

The group nods in response, and Marth turns back around.

“Just once more,” he says. “And we’ll return home.”

With that, he begins walking, into the depths of the castle, and his knights follow close behind him.

 

The castle is completely empty, and eerily silent. At some point, Caeda climbs down from her pegasus, and instead walks beside Marth. He stays close near her side.

Finally, the stifling quiet lifts as they near the throne room.

“...I still don't like the idea of it,” someone says, voice soft and uncertain.

Marth freezes, and Caeda holds up a hand in his stead, calling the others to a halt.

“I know, dear, but they’re all illusions, except for the one with the mask. You know that. And the one in charge is dangerous, as I explained,” a second voice, far more confident, responds. Mars grimaces and grips their sword.

“Because she’ll drive the Tempest to destroy Altea. Is… is that really true? If she has Marth and the others- even imitations of them- behind her- I can’t imagine Marth doing something like that. If she knows anything about them, how could she…?”

“Trust me. I know the Tempest and its master better than anyone.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and thunder rumbles in some far-off hall.

“...Are you sure?” The first voice asks.

There’s a beat of silence again, then the second voice, the woman’s, laughs in a way that sounds vaguely uncomfortable.

“What?” She asks.

“Hm? Sorry, did you say something?”

“Nothing important, dear.”

Marth finally breaks free of whatever trance he seems to have been under, and glances back behind him before carefully walking forward. In the throne room, is where the voices were from.

Merric is in the throne room. He’s standing before the throne, back to the doorway, but beside him is a woman with magenta hair with a staff in her hands. She focuses on Marth as he steps into the doorway, and narrows her eyes.

“Oh, and speak of the devil… Here’s the first illusion.”

Merric starts and turns around, worry written on his expression, yet his eyes… don't quite seem focused. There’s a slight fog that seems to have settled in them, and Marth fears the woman beside Merric has done something to him.

“Merric!” He calls, “Are you alright?”

“I-” Merric hesitates, eyebrows drawn together as he frowns. “I’m alright.”

The woman looks over at him, and her expression twists slightly until she looks almost frustrated- only to smooth back out into a comforting sweetness.

“I’ve already explained this,” she says. “He’s an illusion, as are the others. It’s alright.”

“He...he doesn’t look like- like an illusion, though.”

“Loki!” Mars shouts, running to stand in front of Marth. “Let Merric go!”   
“I’m not holding him, dear,” Loki responds. “He’s here of his own will.”

“That’s true,” Merric says, “But… I’m beginning to think that- that I’d like to leave.”

“Of course, you can leave soon, I promise. But you also promised to help me defend Altea, didn’t you?”

“I…”

Merric seems conflicted, and Loki steps forward in front of him.

“That’s fine. I’ll count on you as back-up, should I need it, but I’ll do my best to handle these illusions myself.”

“What- but you’ll- you’ll have to-”

“We’re not illusions!” Mars yells. “Loki is lying! If the Tempest is allowed to rage on, it will destroy Altea- that’s why we have to stop  _ Loki _ !”

“You do have a pretty way with words, don’t you,” Loki muses. “I suppose that’s how you’ve gotten so many people on your side, illusions or no.”

Merric begins an interjection with a mumble, but Loki raises her staff, and runes light up in a circle around Mars’ feet.

Mars doesn’t move in time, and the light turns into an explosion that brings them crumpling to their knees with a shout.

“Mars!” Marth exclaims, and runs to Mars’ side, kneeling down and putting a hand on their shoulder to support them.

“Just another spell, dear, and Altea will be safe, I swear.”

The circle appears around the entire group this time, and Merric freezes for a moment.

“Wait- stop!” He shouts. “There- there has to be another way- a better way, without hurting them!”

Loki pauses, and the runes dim to a faint glow, though pink lightning glimmers in the clouds beneath each rune.

“No, there isn’t,” she says. “I assure you that.”

“I’m… Not sure I believe you.”

Loki turns back around, as Merric takes a step away from the throne. Mist rises from the clouds with each footstep, curling around his ankles.

It feels like it’s trying to pull him back to where he was again, Merric thinks. But he’s spent too long standing there, in the clutches of whatever fuels this storm. If Loki is wrong, then Mars- and  _ Marth _ \- are right.

Loki scowls.

“I understand what you’re feeling, but I can’t let you go to their side,” she says. The same runes light up around Merric.

He looks down, frowns, and stomps on the rim of the circle, and the runes shatter and skitter off over the clouds into glowing bits of nothing.

Loki recoils.

“Merric-”

“No. You’re in the wrong, I’m certain of it. Nothing of this is natural.”

“Of course, because-”

“No, not because of Mars. Because- because of  _ you _ .”

Loki says nothing, but the runes around Marth and the others gleam brightly again. This time, Merric bristles, eyes narrowing in anger.

“Stop it!” He shouts. The same mist that tangles around his feet swallows the runes of Loki’s spell, much to her obvious surprise.

Merric’s eyes- instead of being dark with clouds, they’re so bright they're almost glowing, Marth notes with a start. Whatever this place is… ...It’s a storm. They're in the middle of the Tempest, in a castle made of mist and magic. Of course things are different around Merric.

“You’re not in charge here,” Loki snaps.

“Maybe not, but it seems I’m stronger than you,” Merric replies. “And I’d rather not repeat myself.”

The runes scatter before Merric even moves this time, and the frown on his face only grows deeper.

“I’m regretting the fact that I trusted you,” he says. “I really do wish you’d just stop and talk, instead of trying to hurt everyone, but you’re not giving me many options.”

He pulls Excalibur from the pouch at his side, and opens it.

“Sorry, Loki.”

Wind sweeps through the room, pulling apart the clouds behind him. Scenes flicker in the gap, like when it first pulled him in, but this time something shifts against the backdrop, long and distinctly draconic in form. Marth thinks he can make out multiple wings, and the form is growing clearer.

“Fine!” Loki shouts. Merric closes Excalibur in response, and the clouds slam shut behind him.

He pauses a moment to look back, as if he wasn’t aware of what was happening mere seconds ago.

“I’ll surrender. ...I must say, this has been unusual,” Loki says. “If you happen to be pulled into the Tempest again, you’ll be more than welcome.”

A smile on her face, Loki raises her staff, and the clouds beneath her swirl up around her. When they dissipate, she’s gone.

Merric hesitates, then runs to meet Marth and the others. Mars is back on their feet, and they smile as he stops before them.

“I’m very sorry for not stopping Loki sooner,” he tells them. “I honestly don’t know what I was thinking… I should have seen that something wasn’t right.”

“No need to apologize, sir Merric,” Mars responds. “The Tempest tends to warp the perception of whoever it calls in…”

“Well, I’m truly sorry for being warped by it, then. And- Marth-” he turns and puts his hands on Marth’s shoulders- “What happened? Are you alright? I don’t have a staff with me, but the moment I do-”

Marth smiles and raises a hand to cut him off.

“I’ll be fine. I’m glad to see you’re safe, Merric.”

Merric brightens, mirroring Marth’s smile.

“And I to you! And you, Caeda! And everyone else, of course…”

Merric stops smiling, and looks around the throne room.

“But… You only came to this place because of me, didn’t you? I can’t help but feel that I was somewhat responsible for what you’ve gone through…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caeda scolds, “We would have helped Mars anyways, and we’d go through a lot worse for you.”

Merric freezes in flustered silence, and Caeda giggles.

“Mars, Altea should be safe now, shouldn’t it?” Marth asks. Mars nods.

“Yes, the Tempest should disappear, thanks to your efforts. I can’t thank you all enough…”

“How about you stop by for a visit sometime?” Cain suggests. Mars turns to look at him, and he grins.

“Least we can do for you guiding us all this way,” he says. Gordin and Draug nod in agreement.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly…”

“You’ll always be welcome,” Marth interjects. ...Mars finds they’re glad they’re wearing a mask still.

“...Well… M-maybe if I happen to be in the area again…”

“I’d love to get to know the person who helped my friends through the Tempest,” Merric says. “So if you plan on visiting, I’ll look forward to it.”

Even beneath the mask, Mars’s face is going notably red.

“Under- um, un- understood,” they stammer. “Thank you. Truly. It… It means a lot.”

They then clear their throat, and stand tall, almost at attention.

“The Tempest ought to clear soon, so I bid you all farewell.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mars,” Marth says. “Stay safe.”

Mars just smiles in response, as the clouds finally fade, and the scenery changes one last time.

...The sky is clear overhead, and the only wind is the one that always surrounds Merric, as Marth looks around.

“Well done, everyone,” he praises. “Altea is safe once more.”

“At ease, everyone,” Cain tells the knights. “As lord Marth said, good work.”

Merric is silent, and Marth glances over to see why.

He’s watching where the storm once was, nearly lost in thought.

“I know we were there moments ago, but it already feels like a dream,” Merric murmurs. “There’s not even a hint of a storm in the air…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is- the ending! This is the second multi-chapter work I've gotten up online, and I hope everyone who's read to here enjoyed it!


End file.
